


Night

by st_ivalice



Series: simul stabunt, simul cadent [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_ivalice/pseuds/st_ivalice
Summary: They could ignore that it hung heavily between them by keeping it unspoken, pretending what happened on the training grounds was as it always was. But at night, when they were in their beds in the Citadel, it came back tenfold, and Regis could not push aside that Clarus lay in bed in the adjoining room.





	Night

Their bond was unique; the first bond a King ever made, but Regis was no king, not for many years he hoped. Still, the duties of a King were set upon him early on in his life, his privacy being the first to be forfeit. Regularly, he was assisted by attendants with dressing, chaperones kept an eye on him at all times, but after Clarus took on more of his duties, and even later, swore his oaths, he was grateful he could limit most of that to just him.

Clarus became his true confidant; updated him on the state of the kingdom as he bathed, shared court gossip as he tightened the clasps of his formal attire, leaned closer a hairsbreadth to hear his mumblings about lords during Council meetings. Despite the shift in privacy, he had had the reprieve of his own thoughts to himself until he had shared his magic.

Now Clarus was privy to his emotions. He had been warned by his father it would feel invasive, frustrating at times, but it would play its usefulness well on the battlefield, in the council chambers, in the throne room.

Regis knew when Clarus was frustrated, upset with something out of his control, or when he was uncertain of his duty, his skills. He knew which flowers caught his eye in the gardens, and he knew the soft poetry that he created about the vibrant petals.

And likewise, Clarus knew when he had nightmares— a full breakfast to greet him in the morning; when he thought of an amusing comment and elsewhere in the council chambers, he heard Clarus already trying to disguise a laugh. When he was about to make a brash decision, his jaw already set and ready to stop him.

And he knew that he desired him. It was no secret, not between them. Even before the magic, when Regis was still experiencing his growing pains, his voice still cracking, he would watch from the mezzanines, watch how beautiful his Shield looked in the training grounds. Now he made no attempt to hide it. And Clarus, who already showed off when he knew he was being watched, did so with vigor, seeing how far he could push both their limits.

Perhaps because of that, they could ignore that it hung heavily between them by keeping it unspoken, pretending what happened on the training grounds was as it always was. But at night, when they were in their beds in the Citadel, it came back tenfold, and Regis could not push aside that Clarus lay in bed in the adjoining room. Through their bond he could feel that Clarus felt the same, was as frustrated, as conflicted as him.

Most nights, Regis gave in first, Clarus’ diligence as steadfast as need be, ignoring the other’s release, careful to retreat into their own headspace. And some nights Clarus was the first to touch himself, after Regis had gone a bit too strong in his teasing.

But not tonight. Tonight, his blood was heated, the fabric of the linen rubbing against his bare skin an irritation. Earlier he and Clarus had had an argument—something trivial really, but he knew the true reason was that he had dared to touch him for longer than necessary and his mother had seen. It was brief, but the Lady Shield caught the interaction from across the table. Clarus had retreated from him physically and emotionally the rest of the day, and Regis was tired of the isolation.

He was tired of the pressures of his responsibilities building, his father physically weakening, the war raging. He was tired of the strain of the Crystal, of his lack of privacy, of pretending that he did not desire Clarus and that he did not desire him.

There was but one thing that was within his control. Regis cautiously reached out through the bond, finding that Clarus had lowered his mental defense, a sign that he was apologizing for the distance earlier. He pushed back gently, to let him know it was alright, that he was sincere, too, for drawing his mother’s attention. He vented to Clarus his frustrations.

Why _couldn’t_ they freely act on these desires? Why _couldn’t_ they, in their own privacy, touch, feel, taste? Why, when they sparred, couldn’t he taste the sweat off his neck? Learn the gentle strength of his calloused grip? Feel the silken strands of his hair between his fingers?

He reached his boiling point, deciding finally that he would do what he’s longed to do, what he _already_ did, even if they both acted as if they didn’t.

Regis kicked the sheets off him, the cool air of his dark bedroom touching his heated skin. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back further into his pillow, his fingers caressing the curve of his neck, the dip of his collar bone. His thumb catching a nipple as it traveled lower, over his belly, pressing at his hip, until he reached the base of his cock and drew his hand up slowly over his length, his stomach tightening.

He thought of Clarus, hot and sweaty, the swell of his muscles and the prick of his stubble. His smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the color of his lips. He imagined Clarus’ weight pressing him into the mattress, imagined how he might get on his knees for him. As he swirled his thumb over the tip, he thought of taking Clarus’ cock in his mouth, how he might pull his prince’s hair in ecstasy.

Soon, he felt the pressure of Clarus’ desire push back through their bond, experiencing what he poured into it; Clarus thought of his lips after a glass of wine, the supple leanness of his wiry frame, his playfully coy expressions. The dark curtain of curls that fell over his eyes, and… _yes_ —Regis felt it, a sigh escaping his lips as he gripped himself tighter—Clarus _did_ fantasize his prince on his knees.

He held on to that fantasy of theirs, desperately wanting it, altering the image to something more, to feeling Clarus filling him, losing himself in him until they both collapse from their passion.

_Yes._ This is what he wants, the pressure of Clarus in his mind, both of them spilling their desire into their bond. He started to stroke himself to the waves of pleasure that came through, of Clarus building up to his release.

The tension built within him, his breath coming in gasps as he arched his back and cried out into the night, sighing Clarus’ name the same time he heard the groan from the other room.

Regis lay on his bed, spent, shuddering, still sensitive as he continued his strokes lazily in the moments that Clarus’ presence was still strong through the bond.

As the sweat cooled off his body and he had a mind to attempt to clean up, his thoughts began to drift. This was yet another boundary they had crossed but would not actively acknowledge outside of their bond. He felt the sadness begin to creep in, the lonely isolation that plagued him, the pull in his chest at how much he wanted Clarus to be next to him in this moment.

He waited, hoped the adjoining door would creep open and his bed would dip from the weight of another, but he drifted to sleep before he could be disappointed.

* * *

 

The next morning he joined Clarus for training, not as early as he did, but early enough before his usual time.

Clarus was done with his cardio warmup and transitioned to stretches as Regis approached.

“Sleep well?” he asked, twisting his bare torso in a way Regis was fairly certain he was doing on purpose.

Regis went into stretches that left little to the imagination, his excellent flexibility working to his advantage, and he saw how his Shield visibly paused and his breath hitched.

He smirked. “Very. You?

Clarus licked his lips and resumed his stretching. “The same.”


End file.
